Three Kings
by redseeker
Summary: Part III, following King Nothing and Lost Kingdom. Starscream and Megatron have escaped to a remote planet to regroup their army in preparation for an assault on Cybertron. However, there are other, darker forces than the Decepticons at work, and neither the Decepticon leaders nor even the Prime himself have anticipated the form their real battle for their home-planet will take.
1. Nightfall

It was a clear and starry night. The fields beyond the habitation block lay in thick darkness, and the patch of light from the porch's energon lamp seemed like the only island of warmth and safety in the entire galaxy. Rodimus liked to come out here in the down-shift and sit and watch the slow turning of the universe. That was what he called it after he'd had a high-grade or two, anyway, when he tended to wax poetic. Kup made fun of his rocking chair, saying _he_ was the old bot who should sit and creak in a thing like that, but Rodimus could spend joors sitting and watching the night fall over the energon farm. Tonight the sky was crystal clear, the fresh mint-coloured sky having gradually darkened to emerald, and then to a deep and velvety black. The stars shone like lost sparks in the void.

He tipped his head back and stared upward. The cold nights made his damaged joints ache, but the peace he felt was worth the discomfort.

A peace which, tonight, would be short-lived.

Rodimus closed his optics and breathed in a deep vent-full of cool night air. As he opened his tired blue optics and gazed up into the night sky, one of the stars blazed brighter than the rest. It took Rodimus a moment to realise it wasn't a trick of the eye. The star fell, burning through the sky in a bright white trail of fire, and it kept falling. Rodimus frowned. That wasn't a star, he realised – a comet, perhaps. And it was coming down.

A split-second later the ground shook in impact.

Rodimus took a deep breath, and then let it out as a slow, controlled sigh. He thought about going back inside and going to bed, ignoring the problem until the morning. Whatever it was had come down in the north field. It was quite a drive, but it was a quiet night...

He sat for several more kliks. Kup had already retired for the night. He decided there was no point waking him.

Rodimus got up from his rocking chair and stepped down from the porch. He didn't bother going back inside to fetch his bow – in all the time he'd lived on Arelline, the most dangerous thing he'd encountered was a patch of quicksand. The bow was probably almost as rusty as he was, by now.

He transformed when he reached the road, and drove north, his headlights lighting up the ceaseless dark. As he drove further away from the house, a fiery, faint glow appeared on the horizon. Whatever it was that had come down, it was burning.

* * *

Starscream had held out for much longer than Megatron thought he would be able to. Joors passed and Starscream remained stubbornly at the helm, flying the _Rebellion_ as if it were his own frame, his own wings. His hands were steady and quick upon the controls as he leapt from one space bridge to the next, evading a pursuit that still failed to materialise. It was only when the planet was within sight on the ship's scanners that Starscream began to falter. Their flight had been shorter than their madcap escape from Akeron, due to the longer transwarp jumps they had achieved, but this journey had been taxing in its own, whole new way. On the journey from Akeron, Starscream hadn't been suffering from grievous wounds. The seeker had been immovable, and neither Gull's entreaties nor Megatron's orders had been enough to tear Starscream away from the _Rebellion_'s helm. His face had been set, his frame held rigidly tense, and his optics had blazed with a fiery determination none of them could dim. Now, joors later, Megatron was slumped in the captain's seat on a darkened bridge, his helm in his hand. The others had retired for some much-needed recharge, and even Megatron had been dozing in his chair. He had sustained some minor wounds in the battle at New Kaon as well, from the air-to-ground artillery firing on himself and Lugnut from the mountains, trying to protect the human facility Starscream had destroyed. Still, compared to Starscream's livid gashes, the stab wounds in his mangled wing that dripped energon even now, Megatron was a picture of health.

He lifted his head when he heard something on the console start to chirp alarmingly. Starscream's silhouette wasn't as rigid as it had been. In fact, the seeker was starting to slump, and sway. Megatron straightened. The viz-screen showed a verdant green planet, approaching fast.

Megatron swallowed, his throat dry. He moistened dry lips and said, "Starscream." Starscream didn't react, but still the ship hurtled onward. Starscream was definitely swaying now. "Starscream." Megatron rose to his feet.

"I'm fine," Starscream snapped. His fingers moved spasmodically across the console, scratching and tapping at glyphs with a frantic urgency Megatron hadn't seen him use, even in the initial flight from the _Ariel_. He frowned and stepped closer. "We're approaching... the planet Glaive told us about." Starscream hissed, and Megatron saw his wings angle downward a degree, dislodging the dried energon that had crusted over the worst of his wounds and setting them leaking again. "I must have blacked out for a moment," Starscream muttered, and Megatron stared at him in alarm.

"Starscream." Megatron laid his hand on Starscream's shoulder and could feel the tension in him – it felt like the only thing holding the trembling mech together.

"Don't fuss, old mech. Have to... land..."

Starscream changed the angle of their descent, but they were still going too fast as they began to enter the planet's atmosphere. The ship rocked, and outside there was the roar of flames. Megatron held onto Starscream's shoulder and the back of Starscream's chair as it felt like the ship was buffeted on angry winds, and was eventually thrown into a clear green sky, finally clear of the atmospheric barrier, miraculously not burned up to dust. The engines were still screaming, though, and they were still going too fast. "Starscream!"

Starscream's optics were flickering. He used the last of his failing strength to pull the ship up, to decrease its speed just enough to spare them from disintegrating upon impact. They were streaming through the sky, smoke and flame spearing behind them. Alarms were shrieking, but Megatron's attention was focused solely on the fading seeker, and his grip on Starscream's shoulder remained desperately tight. He mumbled some encouraging nonsense, his frame curled to the back of Starscream's chair and his mouth close to the jet's audio; he wasn't thinking on his words, but they seemed to reach Starscream. Or maybe they didn't, and Starscream rallied all on his own. It didn't matter – Starscream's hand swept across the console, a line of glyphs lighting up in the wake of his skittering, sharp fingers. The ship lurched, brakes engaged, and then they were streaking over farmland. Megatron saw dark fields stream by on the screen in a crazy blur, and then Starscream slumped backward, and the tension beneath Megatron's hand was gone. Megatron caught Starscream as he fell from the seat he had stubbornly occupied for all the fraught joors since Pyrovar, just a moment before the _Rebellion_ crashed down to the earth.

Megatron was thrown off his feet at the impact, but when he hit the floor his arms were still around Starscream, and he held the mech to his chest and curled around him to shelter him from damage as the ship ploughed through earth and trees. It felt like she was being torn apart, and engines and metal screamed, but within a matter of kliks it was over. The alarms still wailed plaintively on, but Megatron knew he was online and in one piece. Slowly, he uncurled his frame. They had ended up curled on their side beneath the console, Starscream's undamaged wing folded awkwardly beneath him. Megatron forced his stiff body to obey him, and he rose stumblingly to his knees. He rolled Starscream onto his back and checked him. His optics were shuttered, but his intakes cycled evenly, if quietly. Megatron tried to wake him with a gentle shake, but received no response. He tried gingerly to unshutter an optic, and found it lightless and offline beneath the lid. He raised his head and glanced around.

Raising Blitzwing on his comm, he said, "Status report, now."

"That was one hell of a bumpy landing!" came his lieutenant's gleeful reply, and Megatron sighed. The triple-changer was a good soldier, but his tics weren't always the most helpful to have in a first officer. "I think we're mostly in one piece- but tell Starscream I'll pound him into scrap metal if he tries pulling anything like that again!"

"Noted," Megatron said resignedly and cut the comm. Gently, he slid his arms under Starscream's limp frame and lifted him. The last time he had held Starscream like this, Starscream's damage had been worse, so much worse, but at least he had been awake. Megatron rose slowly to his feet and cradled Starscream against his chest. The bridge was dark, and a choking smell of smoke emanated from somewhere in the ship. The viz-screen was cracked and blank. Megatron held Starscream with a strength that was undiminished by his incarceration, either at the hands of the Autobots or Quintessons, and it was a solace to know that even after everything, his old frame would not betray him. He turned, Starscream cradled in his arms, and made his way from the bridge.

The ship's integrity was, remarkably, not too terribly compromised. On the way to the airlock he passed Blitzwing extinguishing a fire that had broken out in the galley, and Glaive and Gull attempting to patch a breach in the hull just past the armoury. He motioned for them to leave it – repairs could wait. If this place was half as much of a refuge as Glaive had promised, they wouldn't need to take off again for a while. Other concerns could take priority for now, such as gathering fuel and setting up shelters.

He reached the airlock, and after a couple moments more, he was able to step outside. The mechanism for the ramp was jammed, and the ship was canted at an angle, so he stepped from the airlock and engaged his thrusters to lower himself to the ground, gently so as not to jolt Starscream. The ground his feet touched down onto was soft and springy with a thick layer of moss. Behind the ship, stretching across a broad plain of farmland, interrupting the neat lines of budding pink crystal clusters, was a dark gouge where the _Rebellion_ had skidded before finally coming to rest at the edge of a thick organic forest.

Megatron strode a few steps from the smouldering ship. She had been knocked about a bit, but she didn't look to be in too awful shape. Starscream had done well to save this much of her... In a patch of dappled shade beneath a tall tree, its bark silver in the light of the two moons, Megatron lay Starscream down in soft, long grass. Starscream looked as peaceful as if he were in recharge – or at least he would, if not for the wounds dotting his frame. Most of them were surface wounds, scratches from that battle drone's claws. The worst was the four stab holes in Starscream's wing. Megatron knelt by Starscream's side and leaned over him to inspect it. The claws had pierced right through plating and wing both, all the way through. Gull had done her best to cleanse them during the flight, but Starscream's refusal to leave the bridge had left her options limited. What worried Megatron most was the loss of energon.

The damage was in the same wing the Quintessons had stripped. Megatron's hand hovered over the place where a brand should be; had been, once. Now the metal was clean save the ooze and smear of energon, and marked with neither brand nor Xerissan tattoos. Now the only mark upon it was the damage from that monster's claws.

Megatron sat back on his heels and laid one hand on the front of Starscream's helm. The crack there was empty, had been empty for a long time now. And Starscream's spark chamber... unless Starscream decided to show him, Megatron wouldn't know for sure, but he was pretty certain that was empty too. He stroked his other hand over the swell of Starscream's cockpit. The glass was semi-transparent, and no light glowed within. If he failed to pay attention to the quiet cycling of his intakes, base-level back-up programming keeping his system ticking even while his higher processor was in stasis, he would look like a dead mech. Megatron's chest tightened at the thought, fear and despair warring with guilt in his spark.

He grunted and sat down with his back to the tree. He closed his optics and tilted his head back. Why in the Pit should he feel _guilty_? He had killed Starscream with a single blow, it had been clean and just – Starscream was a _traitor_. He had struck first, planted a bomb on his back like a black-sparked assassin, a cowardly way to gain the throne. Megatron's rage had been righteous and his vengeance – no, his punishment – a long time coming. Fifty stellar cycles he had spent humiliated and degraded, helpless at a human's hands.

And Starscream, stubborn, hard-headed and burning with a righteous fury of his own, had come back, looking like a vision from the Pit itself. Megatron hadn't counted how many more times he'd put him down, and with each attempt Starscream became more reckless, fighting as if he were invincible. And Megatron, Megatron had dispensed his justice each and every time, his spark roiling with indignation that the shameless glitch simply _refused_ to accept defeat.

That was the thing about Starscream. He could believe something so fiercely that he could make it true. Things like his being invincible, no matter how many times a cannon-blast or sword swipe knocked him down, even if a thousand years had to pass before he got up again. Things like resurrecting a dead army to revive a fight Megatron had believed long since lost.

Starscream's belief in his own immortality must have convinced some part of Megatron, too, because it had come as a cold shock when one day, Starscream hadn't come back.

It had been Starscream's fearless determination, his ruthless, bloody-minded _refusal_ to lie down and give up, that had brought them both to this place. He had broken them both out of Akeron's fortified walls, had dragged Megatron half way across the galaxy to the seat of his forgotten empire, and back again with an army Megatron had thought lost to him following on their thrusters. More than any of that, he had forced, bullied, cajoled and encouraged Megatron not to give up himself. A thousand years in four lonely walls on that Primus-forsaken rock had taken more from Megatron than he was ever likely to admit. What Shockwave hadn't managed to break, the loneliness and helplessness had. But Starscream had needed him, and had refused to accept his weakness. He thrust Megatron back into power and, by refusing to allow him to do anything else, had brought him back to himself.

Primus, Starscream's stubborn belief in himself was probably what kept him _alive_, even when all signs in the universe said he was dead.

Megatron cycled a deep sigh. Only moments had passed, but the ache in his spark had somehow suffused into his entire frame. When he opened his optics, he saw a dark figure running toward him.

"Is he online?"

Megatron was too weary even to chastise the mech's impertinent lack of respect. He nodded toward Starscream's supine form. "Fetch Gull. And any medical supplies you can." He watched as Vault knelt on the other side of Starscream's frame. His face was taut with worry, dark shadows etched beneath his blue-white optics. If ever Megatron had doubted Vault's devotion to Starscream – and he had, deeply – his doubts were burned to ashes now. "He collapsed just before the landing. He held on just long enough to make sure the ship wasn't destroyed. Just long enough to save us."

"Stubborn glitch!" Vault's face screwed up in a grimace of spark-deep pain. "He just had to-... He couldn't just let somebot else fly the damn ship."

"Stubborn glitch," Megatron murmured in agreement. He pushed himself to his feet. "Vault, the medic."

Vault swallowed, and then looked up at him. He held his optics for a long moment, but then the black mech nodded. He understood that weeping at Starscream's bedside would accomplish nothing. The bot was a hardened warrior, and pragmatic enough to turn traitor twice over to ensure his own survival. He wouldn't waste time with empty displays of emotion, not when action was needed. Quickly he rose to his feet and snapped a salute. He returned to the ship at a jog, and Megatron watched him go.

He stayed with Starscream a little longer, standing over him, watching the others bustle around the grounded ship, setting up a camp with pleasing, mechanical efficiency. Beyond, the energon field was all in darkness. Megatron listened to the wind rustle in the trees behind him, and felt an eerie chill. He only left Starscream's side when Gull arrived, carrying the ship's medical kit in one hand. He reluctantly left Starscream to her care, then, and went to fulfil the role Starscream had driven him to accept once more. These were Decepticons, and they needed their leader.

* * *

Something was happening in the north field. Rodimus rolled to a stop and turned off his lights before he got there, transformed, and narrowed his optics. Whatever had come down had stopped burning, but smoke still rose where it had ignited the flammable energon crystals. His view of the field was obscured by a rise of earth covered with thick, long grass. Rodimus crept closer and crouched at its base, then sank down onto his belly. He crawled up the incline, the movements of his body swallowed by the soft susurrus of the wind in the grass.

What he saw at the edge of the forest made him gasp in spark-chilling shock, and he dimmed his optics by reflex. There, smouldering and half-wrecked, was a Decepticon warship. Not as massive as the ancient flagship _Nemesis_, but still big, and very definitely Decepticon, and very definitely in Rodimus's field.

Suddenly he wished very much that he had paused to fetch and bring his bow. But he hadn't wanted to delay, hadn't wanted to wake the old mech up with his clumsy shuffling about, and the result of that was that he was alone and unarmed, in the dark, surrounded by Decepticons. He daren't risk his comms, not when there was a chance the 'Cons could catch the stray signal. Very quietly and slowly, he started to crawl backward, retreating back down the bank. He would return to the habitation block, tell Kup, call the Guard...

All his plans were dashed in an instant when the silence of the night was broken by a sharp cry. "Hey! Look what I found!" A burst of maniacal laughter, and then, "Can I keep him?" A hand grasped the scruff of his neck, and then Rodimus was being lifted off the ground as if he were nothing but a stray turbofox-cub. He thrashed, and clawed at the hand that gripped him, but the Decepticon's hold was unbreakable as iron. He was lifted high off the ground and turned, and he got a look at his captor. A Decepticon, and a big one, his black visage lit by a scarlet jack-o-lantern grin.

"Blitzwing! Let me go, now!" He tried his best to sound worthy of the rank he had once held, even as he still squirmed and kicked, as ineffectual as a protoform. Blitzwing cackled and turned toward the ship. He lifted Rodimus higher, waving him like a trophy until several other pairs of optics turned their way. Blitzwing carried Rodimus down the bank and into the pool of light cast by a ring of improvised energon torches. From the looks of it the ship had come down roughly, and it had suffered damage in the landing. The Decepticons had already assembled a camp, dark metallic tents clustered around the broken-down ship. Blitzwing flung Rodimus down into the centre of the torchlight. Rodimus grunted as he landed hard on his face and got a mouthful of dirt and moss. He turned over and looked up just as a ring of tall dark silhouettes surrounded him.

One shadowy figure towered taller and broader than the rest. Malignant crimson optics blazed down at him, and as he stepped closer, the flickering violet light from the torches picked out a face from every Autobot's nightmares.

"Megatron!" Rodimus's spark froze; what was _Megatron_ doing here? Arelline was a small, forgotten backwood, nothing here but energon farms and ruins. It was completely out of the way, a simple agricultural world beneath the notice of the Elite Guard and the Decepticons both. That was the very reason Kup had chosen it as a place for both he and Rodimus to retire to, where the peace and quiet would soothe his tired old frame and there would be nothing to stand in the way of Rodimus's recuperation. There was absolutely no reason for Decepticons to land here – the energon resources were there, of course, but there were richer stockpiles to be raided. The planet held no military significance, and was too far from Cybertron to constitute any kind of advantageous stronghold. There weren't even any cities, not anymore. Which meant Megatron's arrival here could be nothing other than blind chance. A crashed ship, an unplanned detour. Bad luck for him, catastrophic for Rodimus.

Megatron glowered down at him. Then he turned to one of his comrades and said, "Glaive. You failed to mention this was an Autobot world."

Rodimus's optics flicked to the slim femme who answered, "My lord, it wasn't-... That is, the last time I was here it was unaligned. Although that was quite a long time ago..."

"Hm." Megatron turned back to Rodimus. Rodimus carefully got to his feet, his old cosmic rust damage making every movement painful. "How many of you are there, Autobot?"

Rodimus set his jaw, determined not to cower before the infamous warlord. "Hundreds," he lied. "And once they realise I'm gone, they'll be all over your little camp within the joor!"

Megatron held his optics in a stony stare. Then he motioned to Blitzwing and a hulking behemoth Rodimus recognised with a sick sinking feeling as Lugnut. "Survey the area. Find out if this Autobot is telling the truth..." The two planes saluted and took off in a cacophonous roar of engines, and Rodimus shielded his optics from the dust. "Vault, take the Autobot into custody. Does this ship of Cyclonus's have a brig? Good. Make sure he is... comfortable."

Rodimus struggled as a strong pair of hands grasped his arms from behind. Within moments his wrists were secured behind his back with heavy cuffs, and the current from them zapped through his system and robbed him of the ability to move. He gave a strangled cry, tried to fight the stasis lock, but his damaged frame just didn't have the strength. The same hands came down on his shoulders, and he was roughly turned around. Rodimus craned his neck the tiny amount the stasis allowed, and stared up into optics that were- … blue? His confusion barely had time to register before the mech gave him a wry smirk and then hoisted him onto his shoulder.

"No hard feelings, Prime," he said. He strode toward the ship with easy, rolling steps, carrying Rodimus without difficulty. Rodimus wasn't a tiny mech, but this bot was almost as tall as a Decepticon. But his optics were pure, bright blue. Autobot blue.

"Quickly, get me out of here," Rodimus hissed. "While they're distracted-"

The mech let out a burst of throaty laughter. He was climbing up a makeshift ladder into the ship's primary airlock now. The interior of the ship was dim, lit with what must be auxiliary lighting, violet strips along the floors. "Sorry mech. You've got no friends here."

Rodimus' spark chilled in despair. The strange mech carried him deeper into the ship, until he reached a dark, narrow corridor bordered by three thick, barred doors. He opened up one of these, and deposited Rodimus inside the tiny cell within.

"This brig's a bit primitive, but believe me it's still a step up from where I used to work." Rodimus stared at him in confusion. Arelline was pretty off the grid, so Rodimus was slow to catch up on galactic news. After retiring from the Elite Guard, he had paid little attention to Cybertronian matters either military or political. Kup had agreed that it was best for him to spend some time away from such stressors in order for him to recover from his lingering damage. As such, the break-out from Akeron had barely registered on his awareness.

"Where did you used to work?" The mech had set Rodimus down near the far wall, and was now doing something with some energon chains above his head. All of a sudden he was turned and the stasis cuffs were removed from his wrists. He had only a moment to enjoy the reprieve, however, before his hands were raised above his head and a new set of manacles was clapped around his wrists. There was no stasis current, at least.

"Akeron," the mech said. "Elite like you must have heard of it. It's where you bots put the 'Cons too bad for even Trypticon to hold."

Rodimus watched as the mech stepped back. The cell was dark, but the light of both their optics was enough of a glow to get a look at him. Tall and dark, with a handsome face illuminated by clear blue optics. But on his broad chest, where an Autobot crest should have gleamed, was a dark brand. "You were an Autobot," Rodimus said. "You're a traitor."

"Twice over," Vault said, and shrugged one shoulder. "But I'm not here to tell you my life story. What matters is I'm sworn and branded _now_, and that you're not going anywhere." He turned and moved to the exit of the cell.

Rodimus pulled and strained at his cuffs, trying to follow. He grimaced, and yelled, "You won't get away with this! Any of you! The Elite Guard will come down on all of you so hard-"

The cell door clanked shut. There was a buzzing sound as a force field on its interior was activated. Through the bars, the blue-eyed mech said, "Make all the threats you want, Prime. I'll come back and check on you in a few joors. Maybe."

With that he walked away, leaving Rodimus alone in darkness, helpless and trapped. Rodimus bit down on his panic, and thought frantically how to escape. All his Elite training seemed lost to him. He tried to raise Kup on his comms, but the cell walls blocked any frequencies. He was unarmed. All he could do now was wait and hope. He closed his optics and curled up, hoping and praying to the Allspark that Kup wouldn't come looking for him by himself.

* * *

Megatron accepted a cube of mid-grade from Glaive as he passed her and took a welcome sip. He hadn't fuelled enough today, and his damage from the crash was still unattended to. As he paced onward, the femme trotted after him. She was clasping her hands together, and her optics were full of worry.

"Lord Megatron, sir," she said in her soft, urgent voice. "I just, I really wanted to apologise. I had no idea Autobots had even found this world, I was built here as a neutral. If I- If the Guard-"

"We needed somewhere to retreat to," Megatron interrupted crisply. "I made the decision. You won't be punished for one stray Autobot in the wrong place at the wrong time." Although, as tired as he was, she might be punished if she kept on pestering him. He cast her a quick sidelong glance. Her optics were large, and her expression was thankful. He supposed she was rather awe-struck and intimidated at finding herself suddenly in such close proximity to the high command, nevermind Megatron himself. Most non-ranking Decepticons wouldn't, after all, although she must have some merit for Cyclonus to have recommended her. "Do you understand?" His tone was sharp, but she only swallowed and gazed up at him with a look of profound gratitude.

Before she could stammer a reply, Megatron turned and walked the remaining few paces to the foil tent Gull had had set up, since the _Rebellion_'s tiny med-bay had been turned upside-down in the crash. Inside, Starscream was laid out on a soft foam mattress on the ground, just broad enough for his wingspan. He was attached to an energon drip, and a mobile computer terminal. Gull knelt at his side, checking the scanner.

"How is he?" Megatron asked. Gull's expression was pinched as she looked around at him.

"No change, I'm afraid, sir," she said.

Megatron cycled a deep breath, and let it out as a sigh. "Do you need to monitor him all down-shift?" She shook his head. "Good. Turn in for the night." He was grateful she offered no further questions, only stood, bowed her head, and then left.

Megatron eased his tired frame down onto the ground by Starscream's side, and, allowed a moment of weakness here where no bot could see him, held his helm in his hands.

"Starscream," he murmured. "Frag it all, Starscream. You can't drag me out of Akeron, all the way here, and then just-..." He closed his optics and steeled his jaw. Starscream had needed him, it was undeniably true. But Megatron needed him too. Without Starscream, Megatron would still be rusting in his cell, or else lost in the twilit desert of his false memories on Torkulon.

He knew he should get some sleep, but the dark cabin on the _Rebellion_ was just as unappealing as the temporary quarters that had been set up for him outside. He had resented sharing a berth with Starscream, but now, faced with the prospect of retiring alone, he found his spark going cold at the thought. The loneliness of the endless years in Akeron came creeping back to him, and he knew that he couldn't face sleeping alone.

Instead, he lowered himself to the ground on the side of Starscream's good, undamaged wing. Too strut-weary to worry about another bot walking in, he curled gingerly around Starscream's quiet, motionless frame. He closed his eyes, and even though Starscream was cold and silent enough to hardly be there at all, his systems still hummed faintly, and there was the subtle aura of his EM field. Megatron laid his hand on Starscream's wing, and slept.


	2. Exile

Optimus paced down the broad white corridor in the heart of the Metroplex. Worry gnawed at his fuel tank, and he walked with his shoulders hunched and his optics distant. Not only had he managed to put the _Ariel_ out of action yet _again_, but he had let both Megatron and Starscream evade him. By the time the Decpeticon fleet had finished with him, the _Ariel_ had been unable to lift off from the surface of Pyrovar. He had wondered why they didn't outright destroy it, until he realised Megatron's ship had already fled. The battle had been nothing but a distraction – a distraction that had grounded the Autobot flagship and cost the Guard millions of credits.

He approached a turning in the corridor and drew himself up, squaring his shoulders and lifting his head. It was time to face the consequences.

He rounded the corner, and stepped into a wide, high-ceilinged chamber which looked out across the most affluent area of the city. Outside, white and glass towers glittered in the light of the orbiting satellites. It was a bright, clear day, but within Ultra Magnus's office the atmosphere was like a storm-cloud.

Magnus was at his desk at the far side of the room, and to his right, radiating a turbulent mix of righteous anger and vindictive anticipation, was Sentinel Prime.

Optimus approached Ultra Magnus's desk. The Elite Guard leader had undergone severe damage just before the Battle of Detroit, but while his frame had a few creaks and tics it had lacked before, he was still as vital and charismatic a leader as he had been before Shockwave turned his own hammer on him. Right now, his gaze was steely and cool, his expression grim.

Optimus stood at attention and snapped an Academy-standard salute. The Elite crest emblazoned on his shoulder caught the light.

"You have some explaining to do, Optimus Prime," Ultra Magnus said. Optimus grit his teeth. As humiliating as this hearing was, being a Prime – not to mention being captain of the most daring and expensive Autobot military project since the war – required he maintain some level of accountability.

"Sir, with respect, I already handed in my report this morning."

"Yes." Ultra Magnus rested his hand on a closed data-pad on his desk. "I had the pleasure of reviewing it just a few joors ago. I prefer to hear your version of events directly from you. I also have a few questions." Sentinel cleared his throat. "Sentinel Prime, your chance to question Optimus Prime will come, on your own time. Optimus, if you please..."

Optimus cycled a breath. "Sir, I really don't have any more to add to what's already in the report. We responded to a distress call from the Pyrovar Research Base. When we transwarped in, the base was already under attack by the Decepticons. I tried to capture them, but they fled on a Decepticon ship."

Sentinel Prime snorted derisively and muttered, "Convenient," under his breath.

Optimus ignored him and ploughed onward. "They fled on a Decepticon ship. I tried to give chase in the _Ariel_, but other Decepticon ships transwarped in and attacked us. Megatron got away..."

Magnus steepled his fingers before him, his elbows resting on the smooth white surface of the desk. "Tell me, why did you fail to activate the _Ariel_'s special battle protocol?"

"Sir," Optimus said with a frown. "She's not ready for that, those protocols have hardly been tested-"

"I think the situation called for decisive action, Optimus!" Sentinel interrupted. "A bot might start to wonder just what was holding you back. Could it be your loyalties have been _compromised_?" Magnus gestured for him to be quiet.

Optimus ignored Sentinel again, and spoke directly to Ultra Magnus. "Sir, the ship hasn't bonded with anybot yet, and I don't think the middle of a battle is the best place to conduct those kinds of tests."

"And yet, if you had taken that chance, perhaps the notorious warlord and his lieutenant may not have escaped your custody. Again."

Optimus bristled. Magnus spoke as if it were _his_ fault Megatron and Starscream escaped from their prison. Optimus was only responsible for putting them there, having captured Megatron after Detroit, and Starscream a thousand years later. He had never been their jailer.

"Understood, sir," he said grimly. "I'll ask Ratchet and Perceptor if we can progress to the next stage of testing-"

"No need for that, Optimus." Ultra Magnus looked down and methodically shifted and reorganised a small stack of pads on his desk. Optimus waited out the tense silence until Magnus went on, "I've received some other reports which I find... distressing."

"Sir?"

Ultra Magnus fixed him with a penetrating stare. "I trust I don't need to remind you that fraternising is frowned-upon within the Elite Guard, let alone with a Decepticon. A Decepticon _prisoner_, no less."

Optimus's spark stalled. Abruptly he felt dizzy, as though the ground had been pulled from beneath him. Before Optimus could muster a defence, Magnus continued, "Members of your crew aboard the _Ariel_ reported some troubling behaviour whilst you held the Decepticon Starscream in your custody following the crash. Sentinel Prime was conscientious enough to bring this to my attention."

Optimus's optics found Sentinel's, and the malicious glee in the other Prime's face was enough to chill Optimus right down to the struts. How he had ever called the mech his friend, he didn't know.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Optimus croaked. Spark, but he had been a fool to think no-bot noticed. Weeks of nocturnal visits to Starscream's tent had to have been marked by someone, but Optimus had been too caught up in his guilty infatuation, in the thrill of the forbidden, to be as careful as he should. His processor was racing. They wouldn't have proof – they _couldn't_, not with Starscream halfway to Skaro by now. It would be Optimus's word against whoever had reported him, and Otimus had a reputation as a trusted and honest officer-

All this passed through Optimus's mind in the blink of an optic, but just as he was beginning to rationalise how far this could go, Ultra Magnus's hard voice cut through his hopes. "This behaviour is completely unacceptable, and will not be tolerated within the Elite Guard. If this were to get out we would all be disgraced." The look of cold disgust upon his superior's face made Optimus's tank heave. So there would be no court-martial, and no scandal. That meant a cover-up, and no chance to clear his name. Not that his name _was_ clear, of course.

"I'm transferring custody of the _Ariel_ forthwith to Sentinel Prime," Magnus continued. "On reflection, perhaps being given so much responsibility so quickly was too much for you.

Optimus's head was swimming. It wasn't possible – the _Ariel_ was _his_, was _his_ responsibility. He had been awarded captaincy of the experimental new vessel as a reward for his heroism on Earth, just after being accepted into the Elite Guard. To have her taken away wasn't only a punishment, it was a humiliation. Not to mention the simple fact that Sentinel would be an absolutely terrible custodian for the young ship.

"With respect," he said through gritted teeth, "I would ask you to reconsider."

"I'm afraid the orders have already been signed. The ship was transferred to Sentinel as of this morning. I've transferred you to another ship. You may enjoy the opportunity to reunite with some of your former comrades." Magnus held out another datapad, and Optimus stepped forward and took it, feeling a dazed sense of unreality.

He flipped open the datapad and read. "Sir. If I'm going to be transferred away from the _Ariel_, I'd really prefer to serve with Omega Supreme-"

"You and I both know the _Orion_ was decommissioned decades ago." Magnus was losing his patience. He swept to his feet. "And besides, you're hardly in a position to dictate terms. You will accept your orders or renounce your badge... I would hate to have to see you go through that again," he said. There was steel in his voice, and Optimus, shaken, knew better than to argue further. He nodded, and bowed his head.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir." He glanced up and caught a glimpse of Sentinel, puffed up with smug pride, a sly and self-satisfied grin upon his face. "Is that everything, sir?"

"All except one thing: your assignment on your new vessel will be to track down the Decepticons _you_ allowed to get away. You will have every resource at your disposal, within reason. You have to understand this is a delicate time for the Alliance, several things hang in the balance and our resources are not unlimited."

So, the Guard was crippling his operation right from the start, Optimus thought. Magnus probably held out more hope that Megatron and Starscream would be brought in by bounty hunters than by Optimus. Why bother expending resources on a fool's errand of a quest? Optimus knew he was being sent out of the way, sent into unacknowledged exile as punishment for his crimes. Well, Optimus would see about that. Quite apart from anything else, the thought of Starscream in the clutches of somebot like Lockdown... it made him shudder, made his tank turn over, even if Starscream _was_ a cold-sparked son-of-a-glitch and Optimus was a fool for still holding a candle for him after their brief and ill-advised fling.

Just as Optimus was about to salute and make his bitter goodbyes, his processor replayed Ultra Magnus's words and snagged on something. The base at Pyrovar had been an Alliance facility of some sort. A memory from the mission surfaced, and he drew a hesitant breath to ask, "Sir, those bots at the base..."

Ultra Magnus's optics could have frozen the energon in Optimus's lines. "I don't believe that's relevant to this discussion, do you? The Decepticons' attack on that base has caused absolute chaos on the Alliance Council. The EDC will have all our helms if we fail to negotiate this very carefully. As you can imagine, it's a highly delicate situation, and tempers are running high on both sides."

Optimus's optics darted back to Sentinel, but for once his face was closed. There was a tension in the air that warned Optimus not to test Magnus's patience further, and so he only said, "Of course. I just wondered why Megatron would go _there_, of all places. It seems like quite the coincidence-"

"No coincidence at all!" Sentinel said. "New Kaon is where the Decepticon refugees crawled off to after they were exiled. It makes perfect sense for old bucket-head to do the same. We've already got those Decepticreeps on the run – all you need to do is go and pick them up."

Optimus sighed. He knew he would get no further right now. He nodded to both of them, and said, "Understood. When does the _Odyssey_ take off?"

"The transfer takes a little time, Optimus," Ultra Magnus said. "But you should be able to get underway within the decacycle. Use the time to gather your crew and supplies. Well, I won't bore you with the minutiae you're already familiar with – you've captained a ship before. And don't worry – the _Ariel_ will be in safe hands until you return."

Optimus had his misgivings about that, but he refrained from voicing them. Instead, he nodded, saluted, and took his leave of them both.

On the way out, whilst making his meandering way through the Metroplex's maze of hallways, he mused on the exchange that had taken place. Sentinel had seemed eager to derail his question about the strange battlemechs he'd seen on Pyrovar – he wondered why that might be. Chances were they were simply Autobots on guard detail, posted to an Alliance base as an act of goodwill on behalf of the Guard. If that were the case it would be simple enough to find their transfer records...

Two floors down, he reached his own office. It was far from small, and was more than adequately appointed, even if the view was not as good as the Magnus's. Still, he thought it had its own kind of charm – the large window looked out upon the city's shipyard. Somewhere down there was his ship, his _Ariel_.

Sentinel was a terrible choice of captain for her. Optimus's spark burned at the injustice of being stripped of captaincy of the very ship that was gifted to him for nothing less than delivering the Lord of the Decepticons to the Council on a plate. But it wasn't just the injustice, it was an ethical concern.

Optimus hadn't had very long to get acquainted with his ship – she was a newly developed prototype, barely out of the first testing phase, and they had been on a test flight when they'd picked up Starscream's distress signal. There had been no other ships near or fast enough to answer the call, and an Autobot in danger could never be ignored. She had been repaired after the run-in with the raiders that resulted in her being grounded on the desert moon where Optimus and Starscream had grown closer, and Optimus had come dangerously close to losing his spark. Of all the bots to lose it to... He shook his head, and fought to keep his thoughts on track. After the _Ariel_ had been repaired, the Council had deemed it necessary to fly her early due to the break-out at Akeron and the newly spiking Decepticon threat, unheard of in one thousand peaceful years.

There was still so much he didn't know about the vessel they had given him to commemorate a new age of peace. He hadn't been involved in the development; Wheeljack, Perceptor, and the Council's science team had led that, many of the same processors who had developed the Omega projects.

They had assured him that her processor was too simple to worry about how to treat her – she was barely more than a machine, they had said. And true enough, whilst flying her he had interacted only with the Teletraan-class computer that managed _Ariel_'s flight systems. In heavy combat, she was designed to enable direct interface between a captain or pilot and the ship, but Optimus was reluctant to try something so... direct. He remembered Omega Supreme too clearly, his gentle voice and the sadness woven into the very current of his simple, honest spark. He had been a mech built to be a weapon and doomed to sacrifice. Optimus didn't want _Ariel_ to suffer the same fate. The science-bots had had assured him he had nothing to worry about, and true enough, Optimus hadn't sensed or experienced any trace of higher intelligence in the huge and graceful machine. Even so, he _had_ sensed... something. A kind of mute benevolence, perhaps. Maybe a simple reflection of his own fondness for the beautiful vessel he had been able to call his own.

The vessel which now had been taken away from him. The ship he had been re-assigned to was an old craft, big and heavy, designed for prolonged travel in deep space. It was a practical choice, he supposed, but when going up against Decepticons he would have preferred a warship. He knew why the decision had been made – Magnus had no real expectation that Optimus would bring the fugitives back to justice. That job was for mercs and bounty hunters, the unsavoury vigilantes who had come to prosper so much in the thousand stellar cycles since Earth joined in alliance with Cybertron. No, he was being sent out of the way, so he could garner no more bad publicity and expose the Alliance's expensive PR project to no further damage. Sentinel would take over and boost the Elite Guard's image in the eyes of Cybertronians and Earthlings alike, putting on a good show to try and repair some of the damage Optimus's blunders had done. Really, Optimus should be grateful he was being spared the greater shame of his misconduct with Starscream going public. Any other mech would have lost their badge, or worse. Optimus knew he had received the lighter punishment of exile as a special favour, out of respect for his past heroism.

What Optimus was most worried about was leaving the _Ariel_ in Sentinel's ungentle clutches. The behemoth ship was young, newly built and yet to imprint upon a mentor. Optimus had hoped – had always expected – to have that honour. The thought of her imprinting on a selfish mech like Sentinel made him shudder.

He sighed and slumped into his chair behind his cluttered desk. He had brought the datapad from Magnus's office, and he opened it again now and reviewed the information on the _Odyssey_. He was being given a bit of licence to choose his crew – a lot of names were already listed, but one or two of the officers' spots remained vacant. He supposed it was being assumed he would bring some of his people from the _Ariel_ with him on this new mission. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do that... he thought perhaps the ship could use every familiar face, considering what she might have to go through. And besides... somebot had talked. Rightly so, of course, but still.

One of the names on the list made him smile. Bumblebee was doing well for himself these days. Newly initiated into the Elite Guard, the minibot had finally achieved his life's dream. Optimus wondered how he was doing, separated from Bulkhead. The big guy, as far as Optimus knew, was still working as an expert space-bridge technician, although his art exhibitions had attracted a surprising bit of popularity over the years as well.

Optimus put the pad aside for now and powered up his personal computer terminal, opening up a comm screen. After ringing for a few kliks, and just as Optimus was about to give up hope, the call was answered, and a friendly face filled the screen.

"Ratchet," Optimus said with a smile. His spark warmed, and he didn't think he had ever been quite so pleased to see his old friend as he was just then.

"Prime!" Ratchet seemed surprised, but he gave him a smile as well. "Aren't you a little busy these days to be bothering an old bot like me? Hasn't the Elite Guard got enough for you to do?"

"They have enough, yeah," Optimus said. "How are you doing?"

"Still tickin', believe it or not. Arcee says I'm too stubborn to relax like a retired bot like me is supposed to."

"And she's probably right, too," Optimus said. "How is she?"

"Same old, same old. More memories come back every orbital cycle. It's a process, but... well, you know. It's worth it."

Optimus nodded. He hesitated, and then said, "...Ratchet, I wanted to ask something. Well, maybe it would be better if we talked about it in person. It's about Omega Supreme..."

Ratchet grunted. "Arcee's always bugging me to get you young kids to come visit, and now you decide you actually _want_ to stop by? Tch. Who am I to stop you?" Ratchet's words were gruff, but Optimus knew him well enough to recognise the warmth in the old bot's tone.

"I'm due to depart within the decacycle. I'll make sure I manage to stop by."

"See that you do. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's the down-shift here, and I need to get some shut-eye."

"Sleep well, Ratchet," Optimus said. He terminated the call and sat back in his chair. He felt better about his upcoming voyage already, if only a little bit. He would speak to his old friend about Omega Supreme, and about the new generation of weapons of mass destruction that was Omega's legacy. Then maybe Optimus might have an inkling of what to do about his own beloved ship.

He passed a hand over his face. It was approaching down-shift on Cybertron, too. He looked out the window to see the slow, steady dimming of the satellites, and the answering glow of the city's multicoloured lights brightening. Iacon was always online, but Optimus suddenly found himself in desperate need of recharge.

He closed down his terminal and exited his office. He was lucky enough to have been given rooms within the Metroplex, right in the heart of it. He wondered if they would take those away from him as well. He made his way there now, and turned in for the night with a heavy spark. In the morning, he would begin to pick out a crew for the _Odyssey_'s voyage. Ultra Magnus and Sentinel Prime could believe what they wanted, could believe they were sending him off on a wild goose chase if they chose. Optimus had other ideas. He would bring Megatron back to justice. And he would find Starscream.


End file.
